


All I Ask Of You

by lawrencetheshark



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, baby bones, sad dads, sans is 12 and paps is 7, the death of gaster, this is not a happy fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-10
Updated: 2015-12-10
Packaged: 2018-05-06 00:48:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5396498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lawrencetheshark/pseuds/lawrencetheshark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grillby knows the flicker of his own flames. Something else is flickering, but he can't place what...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Reason You Don't Make Promises

**Author's Note:**

> I saw this fic idea in the Grillster tag on tumblr and so i ran with it because i really like sad fics apparently  
> http://gravityfallspterosaur.tumblr.com/post/134915246816/  
> sorry if this seems rushed. I was so inspired that i wrote this whole thing AND took a final exam in the last six hours. i might be editing a little later on.

It hadn’t been long. Or had it been forever? There was no way to know the difference. A darkness flickered in the corners of every room in the Underground by now regardless. It went unnoticed by most. Surprisingly, the only one who noticed the flicker is the one made of fire.

It wasn’t always like that. Grillby knew the way his flames danced on the walls and he knew the shadows that they cast. He had stood in the same position at the same bar counter for far too long to not have that kind of knowledge. But he noticed one day that the shadows in the corners of the tavern had changed. He couldn’t place why, but he felt unnaturally cold when he discovered this. But he still had a business to run. He acted like he didn’t see it, for his own sanity.

It was difficult to ignore.

Grillby tried his best. Oh, how he tried. But the flickering was off-putting, to say the least. There was no explanation for it, and there was no explanation for the cold chill he would get every now and then, if he ever let his mind stray from whatever task he was performing. Some days it felt as if the very air in the tavern was throbbing. It didn’t seem to bother any of his customers (except for Lesser Dog, who whined a little about it, but could always be placated by a swift petting), so Grillby just assumed he was imagining things.

Then, one day, Grillby found a letter waiting for him when he arrived at home. Once again he felt cold, and not because of the frigid air he stood in, he was used to that by now. No, he felt cold, he imagined, because there were no footprints in the snow leading up to his doorstep, and there had been no snowfall for the last 32 hours. There was no fathomable way for the letter to have arrived, unless perhaps it was from a snowdrake, one of the few monsters able to fly, but he didn’t think that was the case.

A shadow flickered at the edges of Grillby’s vision, but when he turned, there was nobody there.

The letter was written in a ghastly font and nearly impossible to read, but when Grillby finally managed to decipher the words, he recognized an address and the words “Please watch over my boys. [Signed] G.” There was nothing more, and Grillby was tempted to throw the letter away and never think of it again. Grillby threw his overcoat on his sofa and stormed deeper into his house to do just that, but holding it over the garbage can, he found he could not go through with this. Boys? Someone’s children? But whose? Who would be asking him to take care of their children? He knew the writing of every person he knew that had children, and this note was not from anyone he knew. A cry for help, maybe? But again, from whom? Too many questions filled the flame’s mind. There were too many unknowns. He thought of his daughter in Hotland, how much he loved her, how destroyed he would be if anything ever happened to her.

If someone’s children were in danger, he thought, he would have to investigate further.

The address was a house not very far from Grillby’s tavern. It was just past the library on the other side of Snowdin Town proper. He had never noticed this little house before, and was perturbed, but he knocked on the door anyway, fingers tracing over the paper of the note within his pocket.

A small ivory skeleton opened the door, small white pupils floating in his deep sockets and focused on Grillby. Grillby had no idea how to tell the age of a skeleton, but he very small, and could not have been very old at all. Old enough, he assumed, to cook, for there was marinara sauce on the sleeves of his sweater, but nowhere else.

“Can I help you?” he asked in a wary voice, looking Grillby over.

Grillby was somewhat taken aback by the child’s tone, but figured it was understandable. “Well, yes, actually. Is your—um—mother at home?”

The skeleton’s face didn’t change. “We don’t have a mother,” he deadpanned, as if it was the most obvious thing.

“Father?”

“It’s just me and my brother, fire man. It always has been. What do you want with a mother and father anyways?”

Grillby couldn’t stop the sinking feeling in his gut. The note was legit after all. But who was G? Nevermind, he thought, he would have to figure that out later. Right now he had to explain himself.

“Well, young one,” Grillby began, leaning down so that he was eye level with the child. “Someone who must care about you very much asked me to look after you all. May I come in?”

The child’s eyes searched Grillby’s face for a moment – the flame monster couldn’t figure what he was searching for in a mass of fire – before stepping aside to let him in.

“Sans? Who was at the door?” An even smaller skeleton stood at the entrance to what looked to be the kitchen, clutching his shirt, a hand on the wall. He looked anxious.

The first skeleton looked at his brother for a moment, and smiled. “Hey, Papyrus, you wanna make a new friend?” He walked over and took the smaller skeleton’s hand. Grillby watched quietly, shutting the door but hesitating to walk very far into the room. The main room looked to be a den, with an open ceiling. The second floor was offset from the first it seemed, above the kitchen rather than the den. Grillby felt a heavy sense of sadness weigh upon him as he looked around, as if the house was much bigger than he thought it ought to be.

The man looked down as the boys, whose names seemed to be Sans and Papyrus, approached him. He sat on the ground in order to seem less foreboding. “I’m sorry to have scared you, young one,” he said softly, holding out a hand for the smaller skeleton to shake.

Papyrus puffed out his chest, a look of determination overcoming his face. “I’m not scared! The great Papyrus isn’t scared of anything!” he exclaimed, balling his bony fists and putting them on his hips. 

Sans chuckled a little at his brother’s antics, before urging him to go back into the kitchen to finish his spaghetti. He then turned a serious expression towards Grillby. “Listen, mister,” he said warningly. “We’re doing fine. It’s always been just us, and I’m twelve now, so even if it wasn’t always just us, I’m big enough now to take care of Papyrus. But if you say someone who cares about us wants you to take care of us then I guess you better do that. We aren’t gonna leave this house though, if that’s what you think.”

Grillby hesitated, then shook his head. “No, I…I suppose that won’t be necessary,” he agreed. “If you say it’s always been the two of you then I shouldn’t intrude too much. But I will be looking in on you two, if that’s alright.”

Sans nodded once. “If you made a promise you gotta keep it,” he said with a shrug. “Sorry, mister, but I have to give Paps a bath and put him to bed.”

Grillby took that as a dismissal and stood quietly. “Okay, Sans. If either of you need anything, here’s my phone number. My name is Grillby. It’s nice to meet you.”

He held out a small piece of paper with numbers on it, which Sans took, and then he left. A shadow flickered just outside the door in the dimming light, but once again, there was nobody there. He pulled his coat just a little tighter around him, wondering if he really did make such a promise.


	2. Shadow of Doubt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it is revealed

A few months passed with the boys in Grillby’s charge. He found himself stopping by after work nearly every day to make sure they had everything they needed. Every ten days or so he brought over some food from the tavern. Papyrus didn’t seem to like it all that much, but Sans’ face lit up every time Grillby showed up with a paper bag.

Grillby found that he began to love these boys like his own children. Sans, he learned, loved to make puns. Sometimes Papyrus would find them funny, but mostly he just groaned, a feeling that Grillby secretly shared but didn’t have the heart to let on to Sans. Though, it didn’t seem that Sans really cared whether his puns actually made anyone but him laugh, so long as they got a reaction.

Some nights, when Sans was really tired, Grillby was the one to tuck Papyrus into bed and read him his favorite bedtime story. It was odd, but he recognized the story, and knew the whole thing backwards and forwards. That realization made him feel cold again, the same way he had when he first noticed the shadows in his bar and when that letter showed up. He left that first night trying to remember where he had read that book before, but the memory was lost, covered in shadow.

This was not the only memory Grillby found he could not recall. He had memory of the house, though he had no idea from where, as he had only learned of its existence when the letter had arrived. He remembered a lullaby he certainly had never sung to his daughter, which had made Sans freeze up, though Papyrus did not react. There were too many memories standing just outside of his reach, obscured by dense fog 

Six months and too many sleepless nights caused by Grillby trying to grasp at something on the edges of his memory had passed since he’d met the boys when he found the key. It was small and silver and he found it as he was closing up the tavern, stuck inside the lock on the interior side of the back door. The form felt familiar. Had he always had this key? Or did it just show up like the letter had? A sense of dread washed over him, which confused him, but by now he was used to things like that happening at random. But where did the key go? Where did it come from? Grillby shook his head violently. It was becoming more and more evident that someone he’d forgotten was trying to make him remember. But he was terrified. How could he forget anyone? He remembered every face he had ever seen. Except, apparently, one.

He gripped the key harshly and stuffed it into his front pocket, deciding that he would deal with it later, his skeleton children were more important to think about than some mysterious key.

But it seemed that whatever it was that had put the key in his back door was determined for it to be used. All night long as he played with the children the air throbbed and the key weight heavily in his breast pocket. As he left the small house he found himself suddenly curious to see what was beneath it. Beneath it? There was another floor to this house? But, of course, just beyond his memory, he knew that there was.

The small silver key fit perfectly in the lock to a cellar behind the house. Grillby was shaking but a mysterious force compelled him forward. He realized as he descended the stairs that he could hear static, and it was growing ever so slightly louder with each step. It was so loud by the time he hit a landing that he was aching to find the source and turn it off. He didn’t even bother looking around the room until he found a light switch, which he noticed on the wall immediately to his left. The moment he flipped it, the static stopped—and so did Grillby’s breathing.

The “room” was a small laboratory. Blueprints hung on the walls. A large object stood on the far edge of the room covered by a sheet. Grillby didn’t dare look beneath it. A desk with a knocked over rolling chair was to Grillby’s right, with a bulletin board hanging just above it. Other than that the room was empty. The light overhead was fluorescent and buzzed as it flickered, seemingly strained, as if it hadn’t been used in a long time. What was this place, he wondered, and did the boys know about it? Whose lab was this?

Of course, Grillby looked to the desk and bulletin board for answers first. The object and the blueprints were certainly not personal items. On the desk sat two thick binders and a broken, empty picture frame. One binder contained pages upon pages of scribbled out sketches and mathematical equations that Grillby couldn’t possibly understand, the other containing mostly blank pages but a few notes regarding souls. There was no help there, and something made Grillby brush these binders off as being entirely unimportant, so he turned his gaze to the bulletin board. 

Tacked to the cork was a flier for a spider bake sale from at least ten years prior, a few scattered To Do lists in a font he recognized but still had trouble reading, formula reference sheets that once again Grillby did not understand, and a few images. The first he saw was a smudged, black mess of crayon that said “Dad” on it. The one beside it was torn in about the same spot that looked to be the epicenter of the web of cracks in the picture frame. It depicted Sans and Papyrus, but with an emptiness behind them, that was completely unnecessary. Unless of course, that slight discoloration obscured by the tear was the reason…Grillby shook his head, realizing he had been straining his eyes to see if something was hidden in the background. The next image Grillby’s eyes fell upon was an image of himself, one that seemed candid, spontaneous, in which Grillby’s face looked a little bluer, his flames wild, and he was sure whoever took that picture must have embarrassed him a good deal to get that reaction. But, who?

Grillby backed up from the desk, unable to look at it anymore. His heart was beating terribly hard in his fiery chest and he was having difficulty breathing. Too many questions swirled in his mind. Who could this person possibly be? Why did he remember any of this, and how could he have forgotten? How could he possibly feel so lost but long to find the truth anyways? He knew simultaneously too much and not enough and he was having a bad enough time.

Unused to how small the room was, Grillby soon felt his back touch the large object on the opposite end of the room. He jumped slightly, startled by the impact, and his eyes flickered towards the blueprints on the wall.

They were blueprints of the Core.

Grillby fainted.


	3. Take It Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the end

Gaster shuffled through the door of the tavern looking like he’d been dragged through a bed of hot coals. His shoulders sagged and his eyes were heavy. Grillby’s flames danced happily when he saw his lover slump down at the bar. “Busy day?” he asked, walking over with a towel and a glass.

 

Gaster could only nod. He leaned over the bar counter and filled the glass with frigid water from the tap that was there. He dipped the towel in and pressed it against a scorched part of his cheek.

 

“What happened to you?” Grillby asked. Gaster had come in disheveled and exhausted before, but he had never looked this…fried.

 

“Work,” Gaster grunted.

 

Grillby huffed. “Well, obviously, work, Gaster, but you still haven’t told me what exactly you’re working on right now.” Grillby put down the glass he was wiping out and rested his elbows on the counter. “I think it’s time, don’t you?”

 

Gaster looked up at Grillby, hesitating, then sighed. “I’m working on something in the Capital,” he began, “that will convert geothermal energy into magical electricity.”

 

Grillby blinked in disbelief, silent for a moment. “Magical electricity? Geothermal energy? Isn’t the Capital mostly lava?”

 

Gaster nodded again. “It’s terribly dangerous,” he said solemnly, dabbing the towel back into the water and then to a spot on the back of his head. “It terrifies me, Grillby. Nothing too bad has happened so far, and the project is nearly complete, but after today, I fear for what might happen to my sons if things get worse…”

 

Grillby pictured the two small skeletons Gaster had waiting for him at home. He had never seen such a look on the other man’s face as was there when he expressed this worry. Grillby’s heart lurched as he thought of his daughter in Hotland, living with her mother, going to school, growing up like a flame monster should. He shivered at the thought of her losing him. He hated to think what Gaster must be feeling after going through so much to even have children in the first place.

 

“Gaster,” Grillby said, taking one of the man’s hands in his own. Gaster looked up once again. “If, God forbid, something happens to you, then…then I’ll take care of your boys.”

 

Gaster blinked slowly as if not fully comprehending what Grillby was saying. “You…would?”

 

Grillby nodded firmly, without thinking. Of course he would. “I love those boys, Gaster. I wouldn’t leave them alone.”

 

Gaster looked like he was about to cry, but he closed his mouth and lowered his eyes, a relieved smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Th-thank you…”

 

Grillby smiled and placed his hand gently on Gaster’s cheek, knowing by now that his fire could only make him feel warmer, never actually hurt him. “I love you, Gaster,” he whispered, kissing the other man gently.

 

The Core was completed a month later. Grillby, Gaster, and Gaster’s sons celebrated by night. In the morning Gaster was gone early to make sure everything was stable. Grillby stayed with the children until it was time for him to open his business.

 

In the afternoon there was a surge of magical energy that went crackling through the air. Unbeknownst to anyone outside of the Core project, the Core had overheated in the night. Gaster had gone in to figure out if there was a way to stabilize it and had fallen down, down into the lava, into the center of the Core, his entire existence dissipating in an instant. Monsters everywhere flinched and looked skyward, concerned and uneasy. Grillby felt his body buckle and his soul squeeze and lurch. The room darkened just the smallest bit. Moments later, though, it was as if nothing happened.

 

That night Grillby noticed a flickering in the shadows of the tavern that had never existed before.

 

* * *

 

 

Grillby’s eyes opened slowly. His flames dimmed. Small drops of magma began to drip from his eyes. Tears. Grillby was crying. Grief slammed into him like a freight train. Every memory he had been trying to reach for the last few months flooded his mind. How could he have forgotten someone so important so easily? Sans and Papyrus didn’t remember him either. Grillby wasn’t the only one. That day…that day, something terrible must have happened. Grillby had no idea. Gaster was gone. Gaster didn’t exist anymore. At least not the way he did before. He had loved him so much, and he hadn’t even known that anything happened.

 

Grillby must have laid on the cold floor of the lab for at least an hour before he gathered the will to stand back up. He could feel his control on his form starting to slip—every limb was shaky and his flames began to give off smoke. He shut off the fluorescent light and made his way back up the staircase down which he had come.

 

Once out in the fresh, cold air again, Grillby took a deep breath, trying to push past the feelings of remorse and grief that laid thick within his throat. He decided he would close the tavern tomorrow and spend all day with the boys. He knew he could not tell them about their father—he didn’t quite know how he knew, but he knew. With a sigh he forced himself to trudge through the snow back to his house. He vowed that he would visit the Core soon, and he would take Gaster’s sons with him, if only under the guise of visiting his daughter.

 

Out of the corner of his eye, a shadow flickered. Grillby stopped and looked towards it. There was nobody there.

 

Grillby smiled sadly, and continued walking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah i think i might be editing this in the future. its not sad enough. i hope you enjoyed it anyways!


End file.
